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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081461">House of Snakes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dream_another_dream/pseuds/dream_another_dream'>dream_another_dream</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Female Harry, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter is a Malfoy, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Hogwarts Era, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Red-Haired Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry Potter, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:48:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dream_another_dream/pseuds/dream_another_dream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of allowing Lily's daughter to be raised with the Dursleys, Snape conspires to have her raised by his old friend, Narcissa Malfoy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy &amp; Harry Potter, Harry Potter &amp; Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy &amp; Harry Potter, Narcissa Black Malfoy &amp; Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson &amp; Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was the first to happen upon the body.</p><p>Her face was still, an expression of abject horror still frozen in a silent scream, and all around her head was a halo of glistening red hair. Her arms, splayed, like the martyr she had been forced to become. How could this have happened? He had trusted Dumbledore. He had trusted and now Lily was dead in his arms, dead and beautiful. Tears fell and trailed slowly down her pale, freckled cheek. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Lily Potter was dead and buried in Godric's Hollow. Severus had not attended the funeral. He ignored the owls from Dumbledore, and learned a week later from the Daily Prophet that Sirius Black had been the traitor. </p><p>The face in the newspaper clipping was gaunt and hallowed. The man looked half-crazed, the lunatic blood-purist he must have always been now revealing itself behind the boyish Gryffindor family reject, and Severus almost wondered what it must feel like to have the blood of your closest friends on your hands. But he did not have to.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"You cannot let Albus take her away," Severus said, and it was a plea. His voice cracked. "He means to send the child to the sister. I have known her. She is the most dreadful and vile among Muggles."</p><p>And Narcissa, with one sister a blood-traitor and the other in Azkaban, nodded.</p><p>"Lucius has interest," she said, in the cold and detached way that suggested she would have no part in the final decision. But she would, he knew, and for that he was all the more grateful. She would not love the girl as her own, but Harriet Potter — who had the eyes of her mother and tufts of auburn-black hair that reflected red in the light — would not be deprived of anything.</p><p>Lily, he thought desperately. Lily, I am doing this for you.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"We will take her in," Lucius said, slamming his hand onto the podium. "Better to be raised with the proper sort than Muggles—" and here his face soured, as if he had smelled something particularly foul, "—imagine, the Girl-Who-Lived denied of her heritage—"</p><p>Dumbledore was frowning. From his seat at the head of the Wizengamot, he looked at Severus — who stared back impassively — as if a parent chiding a child. <em>Et tu, Severus?</em></p><p>"The blood magic," Dumbledore began. "When Lily Potter sacrificed her life for her child—"</p><p>"The ancient magicks cannot be relied on. We do not know nearly enough to risk all for such an uncertain charm," a witch, one on Lucius's payroll, cut in. "And will you have Lily Potter die for the love of her child, and then turn around and have the girl be raised with anything but?"</p><p>There was a low muttering throughout the court. </p><p>Dumbledore's expression became defeated, although he had already lost the moment Lucius had pushed for a Wizengamot hearing for Harriet's custody. Severus had the faintest inkling of the man's designs for the girl, the grander picture that required a more malleable, ignorant heroine.</p><p>(Severus did not yet know about a man who worshipped For the Greater Good. A heart that, a hundred years prior could contain a terrible, obsessive love. Now — what this was, was hardly different. Perhaps not quite as terrible, but just as cruel.)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"You are leaving now?" Narcissa asked. She was holding Harriet, who was quietly staring at Severus.</p><p>Severus smoothed the edges of his cloak. He knew that his position in the Isles was precarious — without Dumbledore's backing, it was better now to disappear quietly.</p><p>"I will be back," he said, then paused. "I trust—"</p><p>"Yes," Narcissa said, with finality. "Do not worry."</p><p>How could Severus not worry? How could he not think about politics and schemes and a child that looked too much, already, like the girl he had loved and lost?</p><p>But he did not say anything. He nodded and gave Harriet Potter one last glance, then Apparated away with a quiet <em>pop</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part One: Girl With A Scar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>Potter, Harriet!</em>"</p><p>The room became full of hushed muttering at once. As if all part of one hulking, monstrous monolith, heads began to swivel towards the front, and some students near the far end of the room had even stood up on the benches to get a better view.</p><p>"<em>P</em><em>otter</em>, did she say?"</p><p>"<em>The </em>Harriet Potter?"</p><p>"Wasn't she raised by the Malfoy family?"</p><p>"I heard they adopted her because she's the next Dark Lady."</p><p>Harriet kept her head up, trying very hard not to feel as if a creature on display — like one of Father's rare white peacocks, whose entire purpose was merely to live and be ogled at. (And then, when its feathers withered with time and all beauty was lost, a wave of a wand — green light — <em>"Clean this up, Dobby."</em> —).</p><p>But she did not think about that.</p><p>The stool creaked as she sat down, resolutely staring at the ground and not the sea of expectant faces in front of her. Draco was most obvious of all, a white silhouette at the front of the Slytherin table. There was an empty spot in between him and Gregory's hulking frame that she knew was reserved for her, and she did not think about that too, or the thin, barely visible green trim hemmed on the edges of her work robes.</p><p>The Hat was slipped onto her head, and her vision was obstructed by the black lining of the Hat.</p><p><em>I'm not very brave, or clever,</em> Harriet confessed, before it had a chance to speak. <em>Or patient and loyal.</em></p><p>"<em>Very untrue,</em>" the Hat mused, a tinny voice by her ear, "<em>although points for cunning must be given. Now, let's see... Difficult. Very difficult. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes — not a bad mind either, and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting. . . . So where shall I put you?”</em>"</p><p><em>Slytherin,</em> Harriet thought. <em>It must be Slytherin, or Father will... Slytherin... Slytherin... Slytherin...</em> </p><p>"<em>You would grow nicely in Gryffindor</em>," the Hat said. "<em>You have courage, my dear girl, but scarcely the chance to use it.</em>"</p><p><em>Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor... </em>Harriet thought desperately. This was a scene quickly devolving into one of her worst nightmares, where the eyes around her grew cold and detached and she was once again left all alone, with nothing but her dismal thoughts.</p><p>She was not brave.</p><p>The Hat sighed. In its silence, Harriet was all too aware of the strange ambience of the Great Hall, which had now quieted into all but a few whispers. Distantly, she wondered how much time had passed. What would they be thinking? Would the Hat simply be peeled off her head and she be sent home a disgrace, to be sent away to squalor with the Squibs and blood-traitors?</p><p><em>"Are you sure, eh?"</em> the Hat asked, its voice softer this time, coaxing. "<em>You could be great, you know. It's all in your head. Gryffindor could be your path to be greatness...</em>"</p><p>But Harriet wasn't listening. All that she could think about was how her parents, how <em>Draco</em> would react if she were to end up in Gryffindor. Would they cast her away? Would she be handed away to the clutches of...</p><p>"<em>Very well,</em>" the Hat sighed. "<em>If you're sure about it,</em> better be SLYTHERIN!"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"What took so long?" Draco asked, when Harriet slipped beside him. After her, Oliver Rivers was swiftly being sorted into Ravenclaw, followed by an Alberta Runcorn.</p><p>"It couldn't decide between Slytherin and Ravenclaw," Harriet lied, keeping her gaze focused on the stool. "Seemed to think that I could become great if only I buried myself in a pile of books."</p><p>"Better that than a Gryffindor," Draco laughed. "Or worse."</p><p>His gaze fell scornfully onto the Hufflepuff table.</p><p>"Hmm," Harriet murmured. Runcorn was sorted into Slytherin, and she gave polite applause as she watched the girl drudge down the hall and past her. Harriet vaguely remembered her uncle, a tall, gaunt man who frequented Ministrial Galas held at the Manor.</p><p>Pansy, who she had not noticed was sitting across from her, leaned forward as if telling a great secret. "There's a couple Mudbloods in the upper years," she said, shooting a disdainful glance at one particular witch sitting down the table with a stubby nose and wash of Weasley-esque freckles. "Can you believe it, having their sort here?"</p><p>Gregory gave a low grunt.</p><p>"My father wanted us in Durmstrang," Draco said rather moodily. "I'll write to him this evening. Can you imagine sharing a dormitory with mixed-bloods and blood traitors and all sorts of Muggle filth? Salazar Slytherin would be turning in his grave."</p><p>His voice carried. Students from other Houses were peeking over, and Harriet tried her best not to think about them, or how their gazes soured when they saw the green ties and robes around her. </p><p>"Never mind that," Harriet said, spinning the conversation away from the topic. "Longbottom got Gryffindor, didn't he? What a riot."</p><p>There was a loud burst of laughter from around her. This was where Harriet belonged, she thought, and clenched her fist. Surrounded by people who hung onto her every word, Draco at her side. </p><p>The Sorting ended with Blaise joining their table to the sound of quiet applause. He sat by the assorted first-years, close enough that the casual onlooker would group them all together, but did not join them in conversation or otherwise engage with them. He was always a strange one, Harriet thought, sending him a passing glance. She somewhat envied his impartiality, the way he could blend in without ever quite being there.</p><p>Dumbledore, at his seat at the High Table, stood up and opened his arms. “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"</p><p>The Great Hall erupted into loud cheers. The Slytherin table was noticeably silent, except for a few of the upperclassmen including the Mudblood Pansy had pointed out earlier. </p><p>"Absolutely senile," Draco said loudly, but it was lost in the surrounding sound.</p><p>As the cheering died down, there was a series of popping sounds as dishes began to fill up the tables. It was nothing as fancy as meals back home in Malfoy Manor, but passable nonetheless: heaps of roast beef, lamb chops, Yorkshire pudding, sausages, steak and fries, bacon, peas and carrots, gravy, and for some rather strange reason, a plate of peppermint humbugs as a colorful centerpiece.</p><p>And so the feast began.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It happened rather quickly; Harriet had glanced at the High Table for only a split second when there was a sudden burning sensation across the scar on her forehead.</p><p>"Ouch!" She clasped her forehead.</p><p>"What's the matter?" Draco asked, looking up from his chocolate éclair and shooting her a concerned glance.</p><p>"M-my scar," Harriet said. The pain had disappeared as soon as it had come, so fast that she half wondered if she had imagined it. "It stung a little, that's all."</p><p>"If you think it's anything serious you should write to Father," Draco said. "He'll be worried."</p><p>"It's probably nothing," she shrugged. And Father... he <em>would</em> be worried, she thought, but likely not about her.</p><p>But she did not betray these thoughts.</p><p>The others were gossiping about the professors now. McGonagall, the witch who had conducted the Sorting, was one of Dumbledore's cronies but a fair professor; Quirrell, a nervous-looking man with a large purple turban, had once taught Muggle Studies and was looking to become a joke of a Defense teacher; Sprouts was partial to the Hufflepuffs and had made it her personal mission not to assign any points to Slytherin lest they win House Cup another year in a row; and Flitwick, who was barely visible in his seat on the table, was part Goblin "and clearly a poor fit for the teaching position," Pansy sighed, and Vincent rapped on the table with his knuckles in endorsement.</p><p>The desserts disappeared just as Harriet finished the last of her treacle tart. Once again, Dumbledore rose to her feet, and the Hall fell into a tired and full silence. </p><p>"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you: First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."</p><p>He glanced at the Gryffindor table.</p><p>"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."</p><p>"What do you think is on the third-floor corridor this year?" one of the upper years asked. "I can't remember it ever being locked up before."</p><p>"Dunno," someone else replied. "That's where good old Merwyn's portrait was, wasn't it?"</p><p>"No, that's on the landing... wasn't it Gunhilda's statue?"</p><p>The last part of Dumbledore's speech sparked Harriet's interest, but Draco seemed more focused on the Quidditch aspect. He was bemoaning to all who would listen about the unfair restriction of first-years from the team ("—absolutely a waste of young talent," he told a sympathetic Pansy, "and Father said he would write to the Board of Governors... an absolute travesty—").</p><p>Dumbledore clapped his hands. Once again, the Hall fell into silence. "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"</p><p>The entire school joined in, even the Slytherins this time, but Harriet was too tired to sing. She sat at a daze for the entirety of the singing, barely hearing the funeral dirge coming from the Gryffindor table, and it wasn't until Draco had nudged her that she realized that all the students were now standing up and slowly shuffling out of the hall.</p><p>"What's the matter with you?" Draco muttered.</p><p>"Jus' tired," she replied. "Give me some space to myself."</p><p>Draco huffed before running to find Theo and Pansy ahead of them.</p><p>(Vincent and Gregory hardly counted as company. They lurked behind her, two silent shadows, which would have been more intimidating had it not been that their collective intelligence totaled that of a bag of rocks.)</p><p>The Slytherin Prefect, a tall, pale boy named Victor Rosier, led the first-years through a door by the Entrance Hall down a series of stone steps. The lower floors were so silent that Harriet could hear very clearly the crisp sound of droplets falling onto stone, though, as she looked around, she couldn't see any pools of water on the ground. As if the house colors weren't enough, the lower corridors seemed to be bathed in a wan green light; it cast the entire surroundings with an ethereal glow, and Draco's white hair had now been dyed the same color of her eyes.</p><p>At the very end of the steps was a stone corridor that stretched into darkness. </p><p>"This is where Potions will be held," Rosier said, gesturing to a classroom on their left. "Professor Moonshine teaches it — he's the Head of House, absolute brilliant man. He bit off a little more than he could chew working with Hags, but he's very well-respected, see, respects the Art—"</p><p>"A bit of a nutter," Theo said under his breath. "Gives Dumbledore a run for his money."</p><p>"—and here we are," Rosier said, as they turned the corner, made their way down another winding staircase, and approached a stone wall by the end of the corridor. "<em>Ad astra</em>."</p><p>Suddenly, there was a low rumbling as the stones seemed to shake, before they were parting to reveal a dark passageway hidden within. </p><p>"The password changes every fortnight, so be sure to check the noticeboard every other Sunday," Rosier said, guiding them through the passageway. "And in no circumstance are you to give the password to members of other Houses, or bring them in the Common Room. There hasn't been an outsider in here for seven centuries, and if you ever intend to change that..."</p><p>His eyes took on a rather frightening gleam. Harriet felt a low chill run down her spine, and wrapped her robe tighter around herself.</p><p>The Slytherin Common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, on which round, greenish lamps hung down on long, silver chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and though they were standing quite close to it, Harriet couldn't seem to shake off the cold that permeated her entire body.</p><p>"The girls' dormitory is to this side," Rosier said, pointing to a hall to the left of the Common Room. "Otherwise, follow me: the boys' dormitories are a bit trickier to find."</p><p>"Good night," Draco muttered, placing a hand on Harriet's shoulder. "See you tomorrow, sister."</p><p>"Night," Harriet said. She looked at him and at the cold, magnificent room she would call home for the next seven years, before turning and following Pansy and the others down the hall.</p><p>At last, they reached the beds: six four-posters hung up with deep green, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up.</p><p>Harriet found her corresponding bed and pulled out her nightgown from her trunk. It was a different style from the ones that she usually wore at home; this one was of a thicker knit, in a rather beautiful cream shade, and had more elaborate patterns down the trimming in the more modern French style she had always secretly admired. Mother must have especially prepared this for her beforehand as a surprise. She would have to write tomorrow and thank her.</p><p>"This room isn't half bad," Pansy sniffed. She slipped into a pink nightgown and walked over to sit by the edge of Harriet's bed, joined by Daphne, who was also dressed in a similar shade. "It's a good thing we all got sorted into the right house. The right sort of people."</p><p>Daphne nodded. "Millicent, Alberta," she called, patting the space on Harriet's bed beside her. "Come here. The night is still long."</p><p>As Millicent and Runcorn ambled their way across the room, Tracey Davis, the only Slytherin who came from an unknown family background in their year, drew the curtains of her four-poster shut.</p><p>They talked for a long time. Despite her exhaustion, Harriet played her role of a gracious host, laughing politely and redirecting the conversations whenever it seemed that it was going off-track or to more volatile territories. Millicent, who had never been much for words, nodded and grunted every now and then, and Runcorn, whose family was not Noble, and who had mostly been permitted to join them on account of her uncle, proved that they had not invited her in vain with a series of clever dialogue that made Pansy and Daphne shriek in laughter.</p><p>Eventually, the conversation dwindled. One by one, the girls bid each other a good night, and made their way back into their respective beds.</p><p>Pansy was the last to go. "Good night, Harriet," she said, a little forlornly. "I'll see you in the morn."</p><p>"Good night, Pansy," Harriet said. She looked at her friend and felt something warm pass through her body, and thought that maybe Hogwarts would be bearable after all.</p><p>And in the silence after, when Millicent's snore filled the room and Harriet was well on the way to sleep, she thought she heard the stifled sound of a sob from the four-poster across from her.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Perhaps she had eaten something off, because that night Harriet had a very strange dream.</p><p>She was wrapped up in the purple fabric of Quirrell's turban, and it was suffocating her, and the overwhelming desire for a body passed through her, because if only she could <em>feel</em> something again — and suddenly it shifted into the green velvet of Tracey Davis's four-poster, and she was laying inside and listening to all the other girls laugh and trying to pretend that it didn't feel cold inside of the blankets —then Tracey became Father, who gave her a cold frown and shook his cane at her, demanding if she had stolen his wand — and then there was a burst of green light and Harriet woke, sweating and shaking.</p><p>She rolled over and fell asleep again, and when she woke next day, she didn’t remember the dream at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Characters who don't explicitly exist in canon: </p><p>-Runcorn, a Slytherin girl who is mentioned in JK Rowling's Harry Potter and Me. I gave her the first name Alberta after her uncle, Albert Runcorn, who led the persecution against Muggle-born wizards and witches in the Voldemort-led Ministry in book seven.<br/>-Victor Rosier is presumably the younger brother of Felix Rosier, a Prefect who appears in Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery. I am not a creative person.<br/>-Regulus Moonshine was a potions professor referenced in the Daily Prophet Newsletters. He is the current replacement for Snape, who did not teach at Hogwarts in this AU.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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